Shattering through the Chrysalis
by NightWolfMoon
Summary: Prequel to "Falling into Place". Feliciano is still torn by grief and anger at the deaths of his parents and grandfather, but he forces a smile on each day, no matter how heavy it gets, how draining it is to keep it on. It isn't until he's discovered by Ludwig in a clearing that Feliciano begins to see that maybe he won't need a mask to smile.


Feliciano wanted it to burn, but doing so would only garner attention, so he had to settle for breaking the wood against his knee and tearing the canvas into strips before chucking it into his trash bin.

He took the cigarette between his fingers when the painting was disposed of, the smoke wafting out of his mouth at his exhale. It drifted towards the open window, the college student not wanting the fire alarm in his room to go off. Smoking wasn't allowed in the dorms, but being on the sixth story easily kept him from discovery so long as he was smart about it.

Scowling at the easel Francis had given him for his birthday, Feliciano stubbed his cigarette out on the sill before flicking it out the window, where it would land on the parking lot at the back of the massive building.

"_Cazzo_!" he growled, kicking the palette towards the door and walking to the other side of the room where his twin-sized bed was.

It was covered in sketches, some more detailed than others. He'd been trying to finish the painting he needed for the exhibition next week, but watercolor, acrylics, oil…

None of them would work with him, and he'd smoked through half a pack yesterday when he usually rationed one or two every few days. Smoking was a habit others didn't need to know he had. It didn't fit with his usual guileless façade. He also saw the rationing a test of will power, but now was not the time for such a test.

The worst part was the smoke's habit of sticking to everything, so Feliciano knocked sketches, pencils, and pastels onto the floor to throw his comforter and sheets into his hamper along with his jeans. He never wore a shirt while painting, since paint tended to fly when he worked, plus he didn't want too many of his clothes smelling like smoke.

"_Merda_," he spat through clenched teeth, glad Roderich wasn't in his dorm to overhear any of this.

He lived next to Feliciano, and the two shared the bathroom in-between, much to the Austrian-American's censure seeing as he was OCD and didn't appreciate the other man's haphazard system. However, at this time, Roderich would no doubt be in Howell Hall, playing Musa, the baby grand that was there.

Stepping around the spilt paint and overturned palette, Feliciano headed for the closet in the short, narrow space between the door and main area of the dorm room. It was about thirty minutes until Shakespeare II (why that was a required course when Feliciano double-majored in art and culinary arts, he would never know), and it would take about half that time to get to the building.

He pulled on a new pair of jeans and grabbed a light brown sweater to pull over his white button-up shirt. Early April, and it was still cold, even with the snow having finally melted away, this winter having lasted longer than was normal. Unfortunately, that left the land more like mush that would last for another couple weeks, longer if it rained.

Grabbing a thin jacket along with his packed messenger bag, Feliciano turned on the portable fan he'd gotten, turning it towards the window to blow some remaining smoke-smell out of the room. He then grabbed his keys and left, making a mental note to clean up the paint later.

Upon opening the door, the auburn-haired man slapped an easy, careless smile on his face as he locked his door. Keeping up this façade, while tiring, kept any questions away.

The last thing he needed was pity.

"Fratellone_—"_

"_Hush, Feli!" hissed Lovino, keeping Feliciano behind him as they hid._

_The smaller of the two began to tremble and whimper, and Lovino turned to take his twin's face in his hands, their foreheads touching._

"Fai silenzio per favore_," he whispered, tears beginning to trickle down from his amber eyes even with how strong he was forcing himself to be for his brother. "Just be quiet. Mamma _e_ Papá will come get us when the bad people are gone."_

They had never gone up to get them.

It had been Vincenzo, one of their guards, who had come up the stairs to retrieve the boys, a bandage crudely wrapped around his head to cover what had once been his left eye. One of his fingers had been missing as well, and blood had poured from just above his right hip through the bandages.

Feliciano had screamed at the sight, Lovino having instantly covered his eyes and mouth, telling him over and over that they were okay.

They'd barely turned six when that had happened.

Keeping the smile on his face, Feliciano forced the memory from his mind, knowing that it would make the mask he'd created for himself heavier by the second. It took so much work to keep it on for as long as he did, and like hell he was going to let it just fall off where others could see.

Like many times throughout the semester, Feliciano slipped into the classroom just as Dr. Reiner was closing the door. He was one of those professors that locked it when it was time for class to start, so Feliciano could not afford to be late—the English/literature department was one of many at the university with a strict attendance policy.

"One of these days," said the professor as he headed for his podium, "you are going to be a second too late, Mr. Vargas, and it would be a real shame to get an F so close to the end of the semester."

When the day was too much to keep on his mask, Feliciano would just say "Fuck it" and stay in his dorm room, which had cost him two of his three allotted unexcused absences for three of his five classes—the other two didn't have an attendance policy.

"Sorry, Dr. Reiner!" Feliciano kept on his innocent smile as he took the open seat behind Arthur Kirkland, a new acquaintance of his. "I'll try to be earlier next time!"

"Mm-hmm…" Dr. Reiner knew not to hold his breath and moved on to the continuation of the lecture on _Two Gentlemen of Verona_.

Once class was dismissed, half the class rushed out of the room, and Arthur turned to look at Feliciano as he put away his textbook and binder.

"You know he's serious, right?" the student from the UK inquired, thick eyebrows rising.

His golden-blond hair looked messier than usual—if that was even possible—and the black polish on his nails, likely from the concert two nights ago, was chipping. He looked tired as Feliciano felt, likely due to the fight he'd had with his new boyfriend that was whispered about around campus.

"Ve…" The Italian-American put his stuff away, making himself look thoughtful for a moment before the smile returned. "I'll be okay! How are you, Arthur?"

Feliciano had helped Antonio set Arthur up with Francis, but the auburn-haired man knew the two were very passionate men, a trait that fired up hate just as much as love, making the relationship unstable.

Arthur heaved a sigh and loosened the dark green bandana tied around his neck before putting away his pens, the professor leaving the room for his next class along with other students walking out the door, chatting or checking their watches.

"Francis and I were fighting again," the pre-law student admitted, running a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"Oh?" Feliciano's concern was real, the man wanting the two to be able to find a way to make their relationship work. "What about?"

Most likely something trivial. A fight between the Frenchman and Englishman could be started by something as large as Francis's wandering eyes to as small as what movie they should watch.

"Something small that really shouldn't be worth the headache," huffed the Brit. "Anyway, I should head over to my criminal justice course." He stood and offered a half-smile. "See you later."

"'Bye!" Feliciano waved before leaving the class, trying to stop his fingers from twitching.

God, he wanted a smoke.

He still felt stressed about the exhibition, and the deadline seemed to be speeding his way. The theme was Metamorphosis and Cycles, and the first idea to come to him had been a butterfly motif, but apparently that wasn't working.

Kiku was working on a beautiful fantasy-based moonscape using a combination of watercolor and ink, and Francis was painting lotus blossoms, using an impressionistic style.

With close to two hours before statistics and this morning's cigarettes keeping him from feeling hunger for now, Feliciano turned towards the woods that surrounded much of the campus. Mud began to cake the soles of his black shoes, the ground slippery in some areas.

He nearly ran into a tree twice, having to make sure not to trip over a root or where he'd slide or even sink into the mud. The beauty of snow didn't make up for the mess it left afterwards.

A good distance into the woods, Feliciano arrived at the clearing he'd found while aimlessly walking through here his freshman year. There were large stones at one side by a cluster of pines, and Feliciano set his messenger bag on the driest spot before hopping up next to it, part of his jeans getting wet.

Feliciano dug out his pack from the bottom of the bag, also getting an old-fashioned lighter from the side pocket. It used to belong to his grandfather, and while he would have to refill it every so often, he liked having it with him and getting use out of it.

Sometimes he wondered if having the bronze lighter with the thorn-crowned rose etched onto the side had been what nudged him towards this dirty little habit.

As the smoke flowed out of Feliciano's mouth in a gentle stream, he allowed the mask to slip, one foot coming up onto the rock so his arm could rest on his knee.

After another hit of nicotine, a deep, rough voice sounded from the right, making the twenty-one-year-old man gasp in surprise:

"With that look on your face, I almost thought you were your brother."

Stepping through the swaying branches of a weeping willow was a tall fair-skinned man with eyes the color of a clear summer sky. His hair—the color like barley under an autumn sun—was slicked back from his face, and Feliciano was able to identify him instantly.

Ludwig was two years younger than his brother, Gilbert, who was fresh out of the Academy and worked for the NYPD in Manhattan. Ludwig wanted to become a detective, and with his excellent ability of observation and deduction, Feliciano was sure he'd be a good one. It made him glad he was no longer a part of his family's work—for the most part, anyway.

Golden-brown eyes flickering towards the cigarette in his hand for a second before returning to Ludwig, Feliciano knew he was caught, and he mentally cursed himself for not making sure no one was around.

Ludwig walked closer to the rocks, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "You realize those things will kill you."

"Hm?" Feliciano took a deep puff on his cigarette, letting out the smoke more slowly than before.

He knew the risks this habit entailed. What was it with non-smokers feeling the need to point them out?

Standing to where he wouldn't have the smoke end up in his face, Ludwig crossed his arms. His mouth stayed in its usual straight line, though there was a certain shine to his deep-set eyes Feliciano had never seen before—not with the man that had a reputation of having a cold, stony exterior.

He was known for being a hardass and didn't really hang out with anyone. Kiku had been seen with him from time to time, though. The Japanese man was very conservative with his speech and had strong work ethic as well, though, so it seemed more like a friendship of "You don't piss me off so I'll stay."

With Feliciano being known as a flake that would rather attend a party than class, however, this was the most the blond man had ever said to him the entire time they'd attended the university.

Nonno would probably tease Ludwig if he'd ever met him. The man had stayed with his womanizing ways into old age, and it had been that part of his personality that had led to his death.

_Lovino grabbed onto Feliciano's arm when he tried to run towards the townhouse._

"_Stop!" shouted the darker-haired twin, yanking him back onto the sidewalk across from their home._

"_No!" screamed Feliciano, hot tears searing his cheeks and blurring his vision as he stared at the body bag being loaded into the back of a white truck._

_It wasn't. It couldn't. Nonno had always been strong, stronger than many half his age. He could outlive God! He'd said so! He _promised_!_

"_No!" Feliciano cried again, eyes finally tearing from the body bag as he spotted a man with silver-streaked, brown hair being forced into the back of a police cruiser._

_His heart seemed to stop for the briefest of moments before ramming into his ribcage, speeding up more and more as each moment passed._

"Ti ucciderò_!" he roared, rage pumping through his veins as his brother had to pull harder to keep him back. "_Bastardo_! I'll kill—"_

_Finally, Lovino yanked him hard enough to whirl him around so his back hit the building they'd been in front of. He then slapped Feliciano hard on the cheek._

"Smettere_," growled Lovino, his amber eyes burning with the same rage his brother felt, though his also held anger towards Feliciano. "You don't do us, Nonno, Madre, or Padre any favors by acting out this way. We're Vargases. We need to endure. We _will_ endure. So you can't lose it like that. Got it?"_

"If you don't like the smoke, you can leave," said Feliciano.

Why did that memory need to come to him?

It had been just an average day at the Catholic school he attended—something that probably sounded cliché.

He hadn't even attended the funeral, much to his brother's anger and annoyance. Nonno had been buried next to their father. Feliciano hadn't set foot in that cemetery since he was six.

"I was here first." Ludwig took a step closer, one foot touching a low rock.

Feliciano couldn't stop himself from smiling. "You're going to play that? Fine, but you'll just have to endure."

He'd found a way to endure. Art was his only medium to show his grief, but none of _those_ works ever saw the light of day. They were shadow works. They didn't need or want light.

Shadows hid, so Feliciano would smile and laugh. He used his mask to play out the innocence that had been stolen from him so long ago.

"Why are you acting so different now?"

It sounded like Ludwig had been trying in vain to think of a tactful way to inquire the obvious.

The cigarette burned almost all the way down, Feliciano snubbed it on the stone and dropped it in a puddle to his left. "Because I'm not acting."

There was no use in putting the mask back on now, and what was he going to do with this information anyway? He was just one person and tended to keep to himself; anyone would laugh if he'd said he saw Feliciano Vargas here, smoking with a scowl on his face. Most would say that he was mistaking him for Lovino.

Climbing up on the rocks, Ludwig sat less than a foot away from Feliciano, turning himself to face him more comfortably.

"So why do you have to act?" he asked.

A narrow snake of steam curved away from his mouth as he spoke. The temperature felt like it was dropping again, and Feliciano retrieved his navy-colored coat from his bag.

Eyes going up to the grey-tinged sky, Feliciano replied, "Easier."

"By the look on your face just a moment ago, it doesn't seem easier."

Was that seriously concern in those eyes? The rest of him kept up the stony exterior Feliciano was used to, but seeing that subtle shine in Ludwig's eyes stirred a feeling in him.

He didn't like it.

Looking away, Feliciano ran a hand through his hair, which was getting close to shoulder length now. He hopped off the rock, grabbing his messenger bag, and flicked a wave Ludwig's way without turning to face him again. The clenching in Feliciano's gut might make him say something he'd been able to keep locked away for years.

"As much fun as it could be to get psychoanalyzed"—Feliciano made sure the lighter was in the side pocket of his bag—"I should get going. 'Bye Ludy!"

He said the last word in his usual fashion, not needing to turn around to know that Ludwig was frowning.

Two days later, and another canvas had been trashed along with three sixteen-by-twenty inch pages of watercolor paper.

In the clearing, Feliciano flicked the cigarette filter into the mud, the ground soft again from last night's rain and this morning's fog. It was sunny now, though, the rays making the man's hair look like polished copper.

"Not afraid of accidentally starting a fire?"

Ludwig came into the clearing from underneath the weeping willow again, and in one hand was a book, thumb between two pages. He was also wearing reading glasses, the frames brown plastic.

"I make sure it doesn't land too close to the plants," Feliciano replied, eyes going to the book's cover as Ludwig dog-eared the page he was on before putting it into his coat pocket.

As Ludwig came closer, Feliciano sat up and pulled one foot onto the rock, forearms crossing over his knee and setting his chin atop of them.

"Didn't see you here yesterday," Ludwig noted as he pulled himself onto one of the rocks.

"Working on a painting." That feeling in his chest stirred within Feliciano, but when he tried to squash it again, it somehow wriggled free, slithering down in his belly and sprouting thin, soft wings. "Or trying to."

"For the exhibition on Saturday?" Ludwig turned himself so it'd be easier to face Feliciano, and he took off his glasses, bringing out a black case from his other coat pocket. "Kiku said he was nearly finished with his painting. He also said you've been working on a lot of sketches."

Feliciano gave a nod, eyes going to the ground. "Mostly, but none of them come out right."

Art class was the hardest to keep his mask on in. Images would bombard him, but he dared not breathe life into them. Not when he had assignments due. Assignments that did not call for shadow works.

It looked like a bit of red rose to Ludwig's cheeks as he looked away, but it was gone quickly.

"Would you be willing to show me any?" he asked.

The feeling seemed to grow, like the wings were flapping twice as fast now.

"Um…" Feliciano's eyes flicked over to his messenger bag, but he decided against it. "Sure."

In Jameson Hall, as Feliciano and Ludwig stepped out of the lift, Roderich could be seen dragged into the second one by Elizabeta. As the doors began to shut, she already had him pinned against the back wall, her lips on his. Roderich's dark blue eyes were wide at first but then fluttered shut as his hands went up just as the elevator doors closed all the way.

Due to the look on Ludwig's pale face, Feliciano couldn't help but laugh, eyes stinging and an ache hitting his lower chest. It was a good pain that he hadn't felt in a long time, and he didn't have to fake the smile now on his face as he took his new friend's hand and began to lead him to his dorm room.

"Wha-wha…"

"Hopefully Liza doesn't try pushing the emergency button. After about seven or eight minutes, the RAs come with one of the maintenance guys," Feliciano chuckled as they reached his room.

On the door was a picture he'd painted on cheap paper: a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of red wine on a table in front of a window with sunlight streaming in, a bird singing from the sill.

Standing by and pulling his backpack strap higher on his right shoulder, Ludwig muttered, "Do I want to know how you even know that?"

"It was Francis who found out," laughed Feliciano as he unlocked the door, pushing it open.

He stepped to the side for his friend to enter first.

"Of course it was," he sighed, shaking his head as he walked in the room, stopping in the space between the closet and bathroom door. "Not the cleanest space…"

"Are you and Rodrich related?" Feliciano raised an eyebrow as he dropped his messenger bag and unbuttoned his dark blue cardigan, which he threw onto his bed, papers flying away at the disturbance.

He grabbed a large canvas propped up between the short wall between the closet and the main part of the room and the desk shoved against the wall on the left, the canvas on its right by the window. It was closed today due to the fog this morning, so there would be no smoking here today—Ludwig didn't like it anyway.

As Ludwig scoffed, Feliciano motioned towards the closet.

"In there," Feliciano stated, setting up the canvas and going to retrieve the palette, which he took into the bathroom to clean up for use.

Once the palette was clean, Ludwig was looking at what Feliciano had painted last month. He called it "Broken Angel" due to the lanky figure's broken dove-like wings as it clutched its own heart, bent over ant looking as if it was trying to offer the bloody organ to some unforeseeable person or entity. The wings were the only light-colored part of the painting, but the red of the heart and blood was blaring against the rest of the darkness.

As Ludwig looked over the other paintings, sitting cross-legged on the tile floor, Feliciano cleaned up the spilt paint and then went to look through his sketches.

Bad composition.

Too many things working at once.

Too heavy on one side.

What in hell had he been on when he drew _that_?

Taking out one of several sketch books stacked in the closet along with the canvases, Ludwig asked, "How long had—What are you doing?!"

Looking over with a paintbrush in his mouth, Feliciano had his button-up, light grey shirt halfway off.

"I always paint like this," replied the artist around the paintbrush as he undid the rest of the buttons before tossing the shirt onto his bed, next to the cardigan.

The brunette smirked as the blond man tried to hide his face behind the sketchbook, now sitting so that his back was against the wall next to the bathroom door.

"Do you know how many shirts I've ruined in class?" he continued, grabbing six of his sketches and holding them up against the canvas one by one. "My skin's easier to clean."

Ludwig just sighed.

Ten minutes later, the papers were scattered on the floor around Feliciano's sock-covered feet, and he began to pace, scratching the back of his head with the end of his paintbrush.

"Is that a tattoo?" Ludwig inquired, tone saying that, while surprised, he was telling himself that he shouldn't be.

Between Feliciano's shoulder blades was the image of a cross created by two infinity symbols. Coming off of the side arms were wings that stretched over his shoulders, ending a couple of inches above his elbows. The ink was white, so it could be hard to see, especially since it was getting close to time for him to get it touched up.

"Yeah." Feliciano stared at the canvas, trying to get an image to swim up, but none would do any good for the exhibition. "The infinity symbols cross for my parents. The wings for my grandfather."

"_Angels don't need wings, Feli," said Nonno with a smile as he touched up his painting of a New York skyline. "They're powerful enough that they could probably just transport everywhere they wanted."_

"_I'd want wings," murmured the nine-year-old Feliciano as he drew a picture of his new pet rabbit. "They're so cool!"_

_Nonno's light amber eyes sparkled as he smiled, and he laughed when he accidentally washed his paintbrush off in his coffee rather than the cup of water._

"_I'd want wings too," he admitted. "Even if I didn't need them, I'd ask God for them. That way when you see them, Feli, you'd know it was me. I'm sure your _madre e padre_ asked for the same just for that same reason."_

_Feliciano suddenly turned to look at his grandfather, his white cap slipping off of his head. "But you're not going to leave us!"_

_The smile shrank somewhat as Nonno looked down at his grandson. "Of course not, Feli. God wouldn't dare pluck me from here!" His laugh was booming as always, and he set down his palette for a moment to hit his fist against his chest. "I'm still strong, and I'd probably outlive even God Himself. Maybe He'll give me wings for that."_

_The little boy smiled at that and went back to his drawing. "Mamma _e_ Papá are watching over me and Fratellone?"_

"_Always," Nonno promised. "You know what 'infinity' is, Feli?"_

"_Forever?"_

"_Yep." Nonno gave a nod. "Your parents' love for you and Lovi will last forever and ever. Infinity times infinity."_

The glisten Feliciano had noticed earlier in Ludwig's eyes had seemed to have spread to the rest of his face.

"Do you mind if I ask…?" His voice was quiet, gentle. It sounded odd coming from a person often heard shouting and scolding from time to time around campus.

"Ten years apart," replied Feliciano in a tiny voice. Even now the tears threatened, and even more images bombarded his mind, wanting life to be breathed into them. "My parents when I was six and my grandfather when I was sixteen."

It was so sudden. Feliciano just froze, eyes wide open and paintbrush hitting the floor.

Ludwig's arms felt warm through the sleeves of his green shirt, his coat hanging on one of the knobs of the closet. He had to bend down to embrace the brunette in this way, his strong chin resting at the crook of his neck.

Teeth clenched, Feliciano began to tremble, tears beginning to streak down his face. Ludwig never said anything. He just held him, and while part of Feliciano wanted to shove him away, another part pleaded with the tall man to never let go.

At some point, Feliciano had turned around to return the embrace, Ludwig's chin now on the crown of his head, not caring as his shirt became damp from his friend's tears.

"Stop acting," Ludwig finally whispered after some time. "Promise me the next time I see you smile it won't be fake."

To anyone else, it would probably sound like the man didn't really know how to comfort someone, but Feliciano was adept enough at reading people to understand his meaning: "I don't want to you see you hurt this much. You deserve to be able to smile without that mask."

"_Feli!" Blanca called in a playful voice, dark brown tresses fluttering around her as she danced around the spacious den. "Feliciano! Come on out, _mia creatura_!"_

_Leaping out from behind the couch with Lovino's werewolf mask from Halloween, Feliciano stretched upwards to try and make himself bigger. "Roar!"_

_Laughing, Blanca picked up her four-year-old son, taking him into her lap and hugging him tightly._

"_I thought you were scared of that," she said._

"_It's not scary if I wear it! Lovi said so!"_

_Blanca laughed again. "Ah, _ti amo_, Feli. You're getting so big, but I can't see you smile with that on. I love your smile."_

_Feliciano playfully pulled on the rubber mask to keep it on when his mother tried to pull it off._

_Crossing her arms, Blanca gave a pout, hazel-brown eyes shining. "Oh, Feli…"_

_Giggling, Feliciano took off the mask but shrieked when he saw its face, so Blanca hurriedly threw it over towards the kitchen._

_Smiling again, Blanca pinched her son's cheeks, making him sound out a shrill giggle._

"_Do you know what your name means, _mia creatura_?" she asked, deep-set eyes sparkling._

"_What, Mamma?"_

"'_Feliciano' means 'happy'." She gave her son a tight hug, which he instantly returned. "And I always want you to be happy, Feli. _Ti amo_."_

"Ti amo_, Mamma!"_

Pain seared his eyes as Feliciano awoke, eyes crusty and feeling dry. He could smell coffee from his desk, though, so that made him feel a little better.

"_Guten Morgen_" came a voice from near where the smell of coffee came from, but Feliciano had to rub his eyes and blink a few times to see clearly.

"Hmm…?" Pushing himself up, Feliciano saw that he still only wore his jeans.

"I hope you don't have any morning classes."

"Depends." Feliciano gave a yawn as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, the green comforter and white sheets falling down onto scattered pages of sketches. "What day is it again?"

Ludwig raised his eyebrows a bit. "Thursday, and it's just after ten. I brought some coffee and muffins from the café on my way back from class."

While sipping from his cup, Ludwig also did what looked like homework, but he was still dressed in his green shirt and jeans, suggesting that he hadn't gone back to his dorm to change, which made Feliciano suspect he'd stayed here all night. His eyes went to the hamper, the extra blankets and sheets from the closet inside confirming the suspicion.

"I can skip economics," said Feliciano, picking off a piece from one of the poppy seed muffins and popping it into his mouth. "The test isn't until Tuesday, and I have time before my cuisine lab. So what happened?" His eyes drifted to the still-empty canvas.

"You just fell asleep." Ludwig's tone suggested he wasn't completely sure just what had happened either. "I guess you were exhausted. Have you had trouble sleeping?"

"Some." _A lot._

"That might have something to do with it, then." Ludwig paused in his writing to clear his throat before taking a sip of his coffee. "I was unsure of your health, though, so I stayed here. I never heard your roommate come in last night."

_Probably helping warm Liza's sheets_. Feliciano's mouth curved into a small smile as he grabbed his coffee. "_Grazie_, but you didn't have to sleep on the floor. I wouldn't have minded sharing my bed."

Eyes going wide before they squeezed shut, Ludwig choked on his coffee, red rising to his cheeks as Feliciano grinned.

Coughing, Ludwig stood, taking up his notebook and backpack. His eyes stayed closed, and he dug into the side pocket of his brown bag, bringing out a metal charm on a long, leather string. He slid it across the desk, and Feliciano caught it under his fingers before it could hit his cup.

"An iron cross," said Ludwig, grabbing his coffee as he turned away. "Made when the Kingdom of Jerusalem let the Teutonic order place their black cross into the silver cross of Jerusalem. It's for courage. My grandfather was given it when it was found out he had secretly issued fake passports to help people escape. He gave it to my dad who gave it to me when I decided to become a detective. You take it for now."

It sounded like he'd been about to say more but stopped himself, and he left, Feliciano smiling as he looked at the black equal-armed cross set into brilliant silver. Most associated this type of cross with something evil nowadays, but courage was something neither inherently evil nor good. It, just like this symbol, simply was. How it was interpreted depended on each person.

Unable to keep the small smile off of his face, Feliciano pulled the string over his head, the cool metal hitting his skin just below his heart. The coolness spread to his fingers as he held it up to see before looking back at his canvas.

"I just need courage, huh?" he asked, picking another piece off from his muffin.

A brand new image swam up to the forefront of Feliciano's mind, and the smile grew, the feeling from yesterday spreading—and this time, he had no intention of trying to squash it.

Getting out his paints, Feliciano began to hum the lullaby his mother used to sing to him and Lovino.

"I think I'll call it 'Shattering through the Chrysalis'," he mused as he mixed the right paints, having to get more yellow to get the shade of green just right.

The mixing process was a little tougher than usual due to Feliciano's twitching fingers, and he looked over at the pack pushed to the back of his desk. His smile dropped some, but when he took a step towards the pack, he stopped and looked out the window and then the cross hanging from his neck.

Shaking his head, Feliciano went to retrieve two of his smaller palette knives.

"It might rain again," he said, "so I probably shouldn't open the window. Maybe I'll have one later."

He began to paint, humming again, allowing himself to really think as he worked the paint to become what he wanted it to become. If it was a little courage he needed to be able to smile without his mask, then there was a huge step he would need to make to live out the meaning of his name.

_I wonder if Ludy would come with me…, _thought Feliciano._ He might know what kind of flowers I should bring them too…._

**_This is the prequel to "Falling into Place", and the idea for it began forming when a reviewer (songohanfan1) asked if I could write something that showed what happened with Feliciano's mother. I had first planned on setting this during Feli's and Lovi's childhood, but nothing seemed to flow right. Then, I got this random image in my head one day of Feli in a clearing, scowling and holding a cigarette when Ludwig seems to appear out of nowhere. So this is the end product after starting, stoping, deleting, and re-starting this story maybe four, five, or six times. Hope it didn't disappoint! =D_**


End file.
